It was cold on the beach, and Seronaer’s breath misted before her. She sat huddled with her mother, terrified to leave her side should she lose her. She had lost so much already. They had left their home, the familiar white streets and tall towers where flowers and light were in abundance. Now, they sat in darkness on the cold, desolate beach, looking out over the furious sea and awaiting the return of their kin.
Seronaer knew not why they had left home, people had been angry, others sad. Her father had been reluctant to leave but said that it was what they must do.
Her mother had been carrying her when the tall, angry Noldo had given his speech after the sudden darkness, full of passion and anger. Lots of people had cheered, but her father had shaken his head. When another Noldo agreed with the first, though more calmly, her father had sighed then, and they had gone to pack what belongings they could carry.
Her mother had cried as they packed. She wished to stay with her own mother’s people, the fair haired Vanyar, but had promised to stay with her husband and he was to leave with his people, the dark haired Noldor. They took what they could, her father bearing a round shield and a long spear. Then, they were on the road, leaving their city and entering the dark world.
They hadn’t been traveling long when they heard shouting and metal clanging together. It was as though there was a thousand smithies ahead, each with a hundred smiths swinging their hammers. The cacophony grew louder as they approached, and her father was summoned with the other men. It wasn’t long before he returned, dour of face and mind, his dark hair covering his features to hide his shame. Then, they went on, following the coast North along the sand and pebbled beaches with beautiful Swan Ships accompanying them in the sea. Her father began to curse the tall Noldo who had spoken in Tirion, the angry one who had shouted and cursed. He whispered angrily with his friends and her mother, and then would speak loudly and openly with them to others. Privately though, he was quiet and solemn. He would often look at his hands, or his weapons, and think for a long time. One time she heard him whisper to himself, “What have I done?”
Seronaer had embraced him, trying to comfort him. Instead of returning the affection, he had pushed her away, sending her crying to her mother.
Some time later, as they awoke, they found the Swan Ships gone, along with many of the Noldo. Many of those that remained, including her father, cursed or wept, shouted or fell into a silent wrath. Others sued for calm, telling them that their kin would return to carry them across the violent waters of Osse’s wrath. Chief of these had been the second to have spoken in Tirion, the calmer, more solemn one. He led them now, in the absence of the one who shouted a lot.
They had been waiting a long time now, and Seronaer was getting more afraid than ever before. Even at such a young age she could tell something was wrong. Her mother rocked back and forth as she held her, bringing some small comfort to the golden-haired elf girl. Ahead of them, looking ever over the sea, stood her father, the wind whipping at his long dark hair.
Breaking the silence, cries of shock filled the air, her father fell to his knees and wept. Away to the east, the sky was filled with the bright orange glow of fire.
